Lamb
by Hallows07
Summary: Due to the long-term depletion of wolves, other supernatural creatures have begun to move into Beacon Hills, a small group of vampires in particular. As Scott attempts to control his condition, Stiles' father is put in charge of a missing peoples' case. The victims are all students of the highschool. With an Alpha to deal with will the pack have time to save their peers?
1. Chapter 1

**Lamb**

Jessica whirled round wildly. The cocktail sloshed. People cried out with her, ignoring the spills. The room howled. Music played loudly. Jessica knocked over a lamp, an empty glass and then a vase of flowers. The incidents went unnoticed. She was having fun, they all were, and the sound drove the house of high-school students onwards. The building bounced. Her body swayed, hips clashing with those of others. The fluffed rug tugged at her glossy heels. Jessica laughed, smiled and clasped the shoulders of a young woman passing by as she stumbled.

"Oh!" The young lass exclaimed with a grin, "Are you okay?"

Jessica eagerly nodded, pulling back as she straightened her knees. "I'm fine – I'm Jessica! Who are you?" She replied.

The young girl stumbled shyly, "I'm Stella."

One of Jessica's friends took her glass away, intending to refill the void flute. Hands empty, she grasped for Stella's arms. "Are you new? I don't recall seeing you at school before?" Jessica acknowledged.

Stella's grin faltered. Shaking her head, dark hair quaking, she said, "No – if I remember correctly though, we share English together."

Jessica's smile wavered, "Strange, I sit at the back I should've seen you."

"Don't worry," Stella hastened, waving her hands, "I'm not popular or anything, so it's understandable."

Blond brows furrowed, Jessica pulled the girl close, whispering, "If you like you could be friends with me, Lydia and them." Stella cheekily smirked. "You're certainly pretty enough to be popular." Jessica said, fingering Stella's long tresses.

Sneering, as the word 'pretty' exited Jessica's peach tinted lips, Stella tugged the young girl closer by her hips. She puckered her own lusciously painted lips, a deep rouge pout, and lowly slinked, "You're quite _pretty_ yourself dear-heart." Jessica giggled madly, pushing Stella away with a disbelieving shake of her head. Her blond curls bounced, flying round her face.

"Here," Stella yelled over the music, "Try this."

Taking the drink her new acquaintance offered Jessica followed Stella's lead and downed the golden glassful. The pair skipped together. Jessica tugged on Stella's hair. Stella wrapped a rough strand round Jessica's throat. A friend of Jessica's, a lanky boy with eccentric blazing hair, platted the brown and blond together. Knotted, the girls chortled. Two other girls cackled as they passed the trio, watching as the girls tried to sway to the music despite being tied together. Stella took hold of Jessica's waist, forefinger stroking the skin abandoned by her short top. Jessica bit her thick bottom lip, the peach gloss scraping away. Stella's top lip lifted. Beaming, she hooked her thumb to the brim of Jessica's jeans. The young girl gasped, hooded eyes widening as Stella pulled her flush against her sweating body. Through the alcohol glaze, Jessica could smell Stella's Rose perfume. Their actions established attention. A few lads and lasses gazed on between the sweltering bodies that surrounded them. Other dancing couples bumped into the pair and Jessica had to push closer to Stella to avoid being hurt.

Stella leaned in closer, lips scraping Jessica's jaw. Her nose brushed the lobe of Jessica's ear, breath wafting the fair-haired ringlets. Jessica's hand held taut to Stella's back steadfastly. Tongue skulking up Jessica's neck, Stella nibbled at the girl's earlobe. Dazed, Jessica dropped her glass. As before, the spill went overlooked. The shimmering shards cut her feet. The other occupants stepped atop the glass without realisation.

"The rooms here," Stella grunted, "House parties never offer privacy."

Jessica nodded, lifting her head to rest her forehead against Stella's. Her eyes softly closed, as she took in a deep breath. "Fun," she moaned, "It's just fun, right?"

Smile widening, Stella's canines glistened beneath the chandelier lights. "Of course," she told the girl, "We'll have lots of fun – at my place if you'd like."

Hazel eyes opening, Jessica stared into Stella's maroon browns. The lass gulped, "Okay."

* * *

Jessica cried out. Stella gripped tightly to the lass' upper arm. Blood smeared Jessica's top, creeping down her stomach. "Please," she bawled, howling as Stella's grip hardened further. Vibrant blood seeped under Stella's nails, dripping from her wrist to the cement below their feet. She dragged the girl forward. "We were having fun!" Jessica wailed, "It was supposed to be fun." She gasped desperately for air.

"Shut up!" Stella ordered, reaching back to slap the young girl. Jessica flinched, head turning swiftly away from Stella's free hand.

"I'm sorry!" she hastily expressed, eyes securely sealed. Tears escaped the vaults she'd created and a whimper flowed from her bruised lips. Jessica fell to her knees, leaning away from the young woman that loomed above.

Stella hauled the girl to her feet aggressively with a fierce growl. "Come along now dear-heart." A wicked grin grew on Stella's visage, "Maybe if you're lucky we'll keep you."

Kicking the boards, Stella tore at the edges. The nails gave way, wood splintering under the pressure. Jessica sobbed as flecks of the boards scratched her cheeks. "Please, my parents have money if that's what you want. Please, just please – don't hurt me!" Stella rolled her eyes, frowning as she tugged at the last wooden board.

"Money can't buy what we need." She grumbled, "We've plenty of it anyway. Besides," Stella kneeled before Jessica's crouched form. She stroked back the girl's dulled hair, telling her, "Why would you want to leave Jessie." Stella kissed Jessica's bleeding cheek, hoarsely whispering, "I thought we were going to have some fun – we're friend aren't we?"

"Evelyn," a voice interrupted. Standing back up, Stella looked to the boarded doors. One of the doors had been opened, the last remaining board preventing the entryway from being fully open.

"Yes?" Stella ventured with one hand on her hip and the other holding Jessica's crouched figure. The young girl crawled to Stella's legs, encircling them with her arms as the new stranger jeered at her.

"You need to stop bringing strays like this one home." The man lectured. He forced the door forward, the board breaking.

Stella backed away to avoid the debris. With dense muscular arms he snatched the snivelling girl from Stella's grip. The girl shuffled in his clutches, struggling to breathe.

Jessica blubbered, "I'm going to die."

A light laugh bolted from Stella. The man glowered at her, firmly saying, "Get inside Evelyn."

"Stella isn't even your name!" Jessica screeched with comprehension, "You lied to me – I should at least know the names of my killers! That's common decency!"

"Is it?" Stella mustered, chortling shortly.

"Shut up," The elder man asserted, squeezing Jessica's arm. Grinning at Jessica, he declared, "I'm John by the way; and that is my _real_ name."

"Before you died." Evelyn barked.

"I've used it since." He spouted defensively, forcing Jessica over the threshold.

As they left behind the dim streetlights, Jessica quietened. Her eyes dulled, hair matted with sweat and dirt. Her fingers twittered to the rushed beat of her heart. The pair walked her through the dark. Large columns grew from a cracked marble floor. Jessica sucked in a hasty breath. A cloud brewed from between her lips. Bumps developed on her skin, fair hair standing. She bowed her head, as a bright light invaded her enlarged pupils. Jessica frowned, nose scrunched, as three people came into view.

They stopped. Standing in a circular hall of dramatically carved stone, the groups silently observed each other. Jessica looked upwards, voice shaking with awe as she basked in the ruin of the bank. Her heels scraped dust from the flooring, as she nervously tapped her feet. The noise shifted the atmosphere. Wildlife awoke, mice dashing and birds complaining. A few bats rustled by smashed windows. A body swung. Jessica fell back, mouth gaping with a silent scream. Her throat hurt. High above them were five bodies. Three of her previous peers from school watched from the corner of their eyes, heads tilted downward. Their eyes were swollen with blood, skin sunken. A laugh escaped a girl younger than herself, red hair flailing as her body shook. Weightless, strapped by their wrists from the ceiling, the bodies swayed. Fresh tears surfaced. Evelyn kicked out at Jessica's lower back.

The thud reverberated.

Corridors carried the boom of Jessica's hands and knees hitting the marble floor. She stared at the once gleaming ground.

"Evelyn," a high voice firmly strained, "I asked for someone to change."

Smile waning, Evelyn gnawed on her bottom lip, "I thought she was right."

"No," a light male voice certified, "This girl is useless… and so thin. She won't last long – not like the others."

Jessica chanced a glance upward, shivering as the bodies above swung with a light breeze that breached the broken windows. She looked forward and scowled, furious.

Ahead of her was an immense office desk. Atop sat a child, a little girl no older than ten, whilst beside her stood a young boy no older than thirteen. He held the girl's hand, stroking her palm caringly. A man, younger than John, but older than her and Evelyn stood with his arms crossed further to the side of the pair. He stared at her, green eyes seeming to flicker with misplaced desire.

"We need to eat," John stressed, "Having them hang for so long, eating so little… it's hurting Evelyn. What will we do when the rest of us get sick?"

The boy hissed. Jessica jumped back, thumping into Evelyn's chest. His eyes blazed red and gold. His skin paled, dim blue veins straining as his canines elongated beyond his gums. As the little girl stroked his arm, the boy collected himself. Jessica flinched, as his jaw snapped back into place. She released a held breath unsteadily. Her lungs burned from the cold of the hall. The others did not seem to feel it, the claws of frost.

"Please," Jessica hastily begged, looking unblinking at the two children. She ventured bravely, "Let me go."

"Put her with the others." The little girl ordered.

The young man off to the side approached. Jessica shrieked. She kicked out, as the young man removed rope from his pockets. John held her by her arms. He pushed her forward, her heels snapping as she tried to force her weight down. Jessica slid along the marble easily.

Evelyn giggled. The boy stroked the little girl's cheek with his forefinger before stepping away from the table. He joined Evelyn, careful to avoid the tumble of Jessica, John and Gavin. Quieting, Evelyn turned away from the struggle to look at him. He stood still, gazing at her. Head tilting to the side, he examined her clothes with a slight sneer. Evelyn attempted to brush off some of the dirt. The boy held out his hand. Evelyn hurried to him, grasping his hand with both of her own. She crooned, as he sifted through her locks with his other hand. He led her to the table, the little girl observing Jessica's hanging. She clapped as Gavin and John successfully threw up the rope. It cascaded back to them after crossing over a beam.

The little boy sat Evelyn down at his feet, as he hopped up onto the table by the little girl's side. He ran his hands through the little girl's creamy curls. He sighed, "They have a point sister."

She grunted.

"Evelyn is ill." He pushed, glancing at the young woman by their swinging feet. Evelyn stared up at him, wide eyed. Large dark ringlets had developed round her brown eyes. Her makeup smeared, conveyed the lack of meandering veins. Bloodless and weak, she took in rapid short breaths. He licked his lips, saying, "We need to settle, Ivor."

The little girl let out an exasperated exhale, nodding as she watched John and Gavin lift a screaming Jessica up above them. Sullenly, Ivor agreed, "It's time to expand. We cannot continue as we currently are." She looked to her elder brother, as Jessica's voice cracked, "I may not like this place," Jessica's body lunged uncontrollably, as her shoulders popped. Ivor sullenly relented, "Beacon Hills seems decent enough to inhabit… if only for a while."

"Until you're better," Her brother suggested.

"Until we're all better, Peter." Ivor confirmed, fretfully looking down at Evelyn who gazed up with glossy eyes. Blood dribbled down Jessica's limbs. Gavin stuck out his tongue to catch the drops, as a youth would snowflakes.

"Beacon Hills..." Ivor murmured to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lamb**

Clumsily, he attempted to scrape the batter back into place. Stiles fumbled with the spatula. His father's footsteps thumped upstairs. "You want butter Dad?" he shouted up, turning his head slightly towards the kitchen entryway. Stiles kept his eyes on the bubbling mixture. The popping pancake slithered in the pan.

"No thanks son," His father called down the staircase, arguing on the telephone.

Stiles shook his head, sighing, "Plain it is." He reached over to the fridge and returned the butter. Before shutting the door, he savoured the cool breeze that wafted from within.

"I haven't finished with the last one yet though and there's still the killer of the Hale girl to find." His father declared with a frustrated tone. His father shrugged his left arm into his jacket. Listening intently to the caller, his brows furrowed and lips anxiously twitched. He sighed, sitting at the table, "I'll take a look, but I can't promise anything."

Staring wide eyed, Stiles carried the pan over to the table and slipped the mussed pancake onto his father's plate. Stiles leaned in further, trying to hear the caller. John glanced at his son disapprovingly before swinging round in his seat, "I'll see you at the station."

Stiles coughed, hastily tossing the pan and spatula into the sink. "So," he droned lightly with a whistle. His father stabbed a fork into his pancake, avoiding his curious gaze. Timidly, Stiles queried, "They give you a new case?"

John dropped the fork. Startled, Stiles jumped. They stared at each other, unblinking.

"God, Stiles!" His father wheezed, rubbing at his eyes, "How do you do that?"

"What's happened?" Stiles asked, casually cutting into his pancake stack. He cringed as the cold flour flopped on his tongue, but chewed regardless.

"Ugh," John grunted, looking sourly at his son, "A young girl went missing last night after going out to a party."

"Last night?" Stiles chuckled, "How do you know she's not still partying?"

Glaring, John replied, "This is the fifth case in the last three weeks Stiles."

Gulping, Stiles licked his lips nervously. He stuttered, "Fifth person like that Hale girl? Did they find this new girl's body?"

"No," his father certified, "I'm only telling you this, because I won't be able to make your game this afternoon-"

"Forget the game," Stiles rushed, eyes catching sight of the clock. He spoke quickly, demandingly, "These missing people, they all went missing at parties – high-school parties?"

Shaking his head, his father stood. He clasped his hat from the kitchen counter, begging, "Two went missing at the last Lacrosse game." He stepped towards his son, who leaned back in his chair. "I want you to be careful Stiles – you and your friends." He pulled away, heading toward the hallway.

"Well I don't know if anyone would really notice me missing Dad," Stiles snorted, "I mean I am on the bench."

"Don't be like that," John hummed, "You wouldn't be on the team if the coach didn't think you're good."

Smiling slightly, Stiles nodded his head. He waved his father away. Frowning, Stiles hurried into the hall. Before John could leave, Stiles loudly probed, "Dad, you wouldn't by any chance know the name of the girl that's - err… missing. Would you?" Awkwardly, Stiles scratched his neck and idly murmured, "Just that, you know, I'd like to make sure that I didn't kn-"

"Know her?" His father quietly finished.

As he gazed up at his father, Stiles sucked in a deep breath. John's eyes dimmed, chest heaving. He walked by his son and into the kitchen. Following, Stiles stopped at the doorway.

His father pointed to the neighbour's house.

"Jessica." Stiles gasped.

* * *

Stiles paced by the bike racks. He swung his car keys vigorously, as he waited for Scott to arrive. Feet briskly tapping on the concrete, Stiles huffed. Young girls in lovely summer dresses, tight jeans and baggy shirts dashed by him and into the school. A torrent of boys followed. Allison hollered a 'hello' to him as she left her vehicle.

"Where is Scott?" she asked, smiling widely.

Stiles shrugged, glancing at the entryway. He chirped, "No idea!"

The bells tolled and Allison anxiously bit her lips. "Well he'd better hurry up," she laughed nervously, "Or he'll miss class."

Sighing, Stiles sullenly agreed, "Yeah."

Awkwardly, she plodded away a few steps. As she looked back at Stiles stood on his own by the bikes, a friend swooped an arm over her shoulders. The girls giggled and Stiles and Scott were forgotten.

* * *

Stiles criticized, "You're late."

"By like five minutes! What do we have first period?" Scott inquired, jumbling his Lacrosse gear, library books and bag.

"Err," Stiles slowed his pace, trying to remember. His mind wandered, as a pair red heeled legs walked by. Lydia's skirt swished. Her strawberry curls bounced, as she called to a friend further down the hall. Scott, panicking, shoved Stiles as best he could with his hands full. Shaking his head violently, Stiles cleared his throat. "Art!" He supplied passionately, "We have art, because Lydia has art and I know we have art with Lydia."

"Right," Scott grunted, "Art."

* * *

Gossip ran rampant among the students. James consoled his girlfriend, hugging her closely as he listened to his fellow lacrosse players revise their strategy for the game that afternoon. Her fingers coiled with his. Though Elizabeth's eyes were sore and red, her tanned skin less golden, she gossiped along with the rest. She sat on James' lap atop a stool in the Art department. His head was turned to Jackson and Danny, whilst she was facing Lydia.

"The girl they're talking about," Lydia blathered, "I've seen her before."

"Seriously?" Elizabeth crooned, throat raw and aching from earlier wails.

"Yes," Lydia hushed. The pair leaned over to one another. Jackson absentmindedly reached out to restructure Lydia's frizzing hair. She told Elizabeth quietly, "She tried to take Jackson away a few parties ago." Elizabeth gaped, bloodshot eyes wide as Lydia continued, "Being drunk off his arse, he did little to push the whore away." Lydia pulled back. Leaning into Jackson's chest, she proudly professed, "I saved him though, didn't I?"

Jackson smiled swiftly, curling his fingers in her shining tresses. He squeezed her bare thigh with his other hand. Danny tugged on his shoulder, gesturing wildly to the papered plan on his easel.

"I can't believe some stray would go after your boyfriend like that!" Elizabeth exclaimed with bewilderment, holding James tauter.

"I know, right? She wasn't any competition though. After all, I'm perfect." Lydia boasted. Behind her, Scott and Allison grinned at one another. Scott rolled his eyes at Lydia's conceited remark. Allison chortled with a slight hum, as she watched Stiles attempt to move his easel closer to Lydia's. Scott squirted paint onto his palette. Allison was already scrawling a charcoal pencil over her pinned A3 paper. The substitute teacher sat silently behind her desk, marking English essays.

"Too true, but I feel really bad now about ditching Jess at the party." Elizabeth quietly admitted.

A loud bang resounded in the room, as Stiles dropped his easel. Towering, it threatened to fall. He cringed, as students scowled at him. The teacher heavily sighed, downing the last of her morning coffee as she watched him struggle. James angrily called, "Do you mind Stilinski? Some of us were out last night." The lad rubbed at his eyes, Elizabeth stroking his arm soothingly. She worryingly glanced at Stiles who cowered behind the lilting easel.

"Don't," Lydia sneered, ignoring Stiles' behaviour entirely as she painted, "That house was full of people. Each and every one of them is to blame. We weren't there and they were, yet they let a complete stranger take a fellow student."

"I heard they walked right out the door." James murmured. Eyes unseeing, he gazed at Danny's tactics for lacrosse. Elizabeth kissed his cheek.

Lydia, noticing James' remorse etch itself upon his visage, badgered, "Terrible thought though is that Jessica is most likely dead by n-"

"Lydia, excuse me," Stiles interrupted.

Irritated, Lydia glowered. "You're excused," she yapped, "I'm talking."

Timidly, Stiles tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him fully, scowling. "My father is the Sheriff," He began, after she did not speak he continued, "And knowing that you've seen this potential killer – kidnapper, I… well." Lydia sighed, eyes turning back to her easel. She painted as he stammered, "I know it would be a pain for you to have to sit through an interrogation, interviews and so on down at the station," One of her eyebrows raised, eyes widening. She turned to look at Stiles. He held up both hands, hastily waving them, "That's not a threat, I'm just saying that if you could draw the girl for me I can pass that on to my dad, saving you time. I could say it was an anonymous tip." As she relented, brush plastering a bright yellow onto her painting, Stiles more confidently finished, "If you'd like."

Lydia glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "Whatever." She said with a half-hearted shrug.

Stiles clapped his hands together, enthusiastically exclaiming, "Oh, awesome!" As she returned to her previous conversation, Stiles turned to his easel. His smile shrank, as she ignored him. Stiles muttered, "Whatever."

* * *

"Okay, so we've got Lydia's drawing as a form of identification." Stiles established, folding the sketch into his jacket pocket. They marched down the main corridor, eager to sprint from the school. "We can have Derek certify whether or not he knows the wolf and,"

Scott interrupted, "What if it's not a wolf?"

"Well what else would she be?" Stiles asked, snorting.

Lips pursed, Scott relented with a shrug.

Stiles tapped a locker for emphasis, as they meandered between other students in the hall. The metal relinquished a great _Bam! _

Stiles continued, tone firm, "After Derek confirms it we can hunt down her hiding place by scent – possibly, if we can find something of hers. Maybe she's left something at someone's house." As Scott gave him a dubious expression, Stiles defensively pushed, "I'm still working on that part of the plan, but regardless we still end up saving the day." He finished with a giant grin, staring at Scott as he texted Allison. "Dude!" Stiles exclaimed, nudging his best friend.

"Sorry," Scott apologised. He threw his phone into his backpack. He fumbled with his pack, momentarily attempting to comprise a mental list of the things he had stored away in his locker. Scott replied eagerly, "Hopefully, returning all those people to their parents."

Stiles nodded, saying somewhat dejectedly, "Right - though you know, in most cases after twenty-four hours it's highly unlikely you'd find the victims aliv-"

"Stiles – we'll find them. All of them." Scott swore determinedly, "If they were dead they'd be finding the bodies. There are few places to put them in Beacon Hills that I wouldn't be able to sniff out." Pushing the front doors open, they stepped out into the early evening sun.

Stiles bathed in the brightness, deeply breathing in the fresh air. As Scott hurried ahead to his bike, Stiles remarked sardonically, "Of course, the whole rotting flesh thing."

"Wait!" Scott stopped. He gazed at Stiles, hesitating to pull the bike free of the rack, "What about the game?"

"What about it?" Stiles wondered, removing his car keys from his pocket.

Scott released the security chain of his bike. He moaned, "I've got to be there, I'm playing remember."

"Of all the times for you to actually get on the team," Stiles idly complained.

"Okay," Scott certified, nodding and anxiously tapping his feet, "You said earlier your dad's working late, so he's not at the game. You go to Derek's and I'll stay and play."

"What?" Stiles incoherently spluttered.

"Stiles," Scott forced, "We can't have anyone getting suspicious. If I don't show up then they'll be looking for me – coach will have my head, but no one will notice if you're not there."

"Right," Stiles granted, "As I'm not playing."

"Exactly!" Scott readily agreed.

He patted Stiles on the back heartily, moving back towards the school. Stiles watched his friend go. He turned to walk to his car, dryly saying, "I told you no one would notice, dad."

* * *

The gravel groaned. The pair walked side by side along the pathway. Grass filtered between the crevasses of the border. The early evening sun filtered through the leaves of the canopy above. A few birds chatted in the tree tops of foliage of the cemetery.

"Why is it just the two of us again?" Gavin asked, head turning this way and that as they walked.

"Evelyn is ill and you know Ivor and Peter would never do something so… mundane." John replied, hands in his smart trouser pockets. His eyes also ventured round the land. The graveyard was serene. Their footsteps chimed. Up ahead stood a shabby building, it stood stout surrounded by stones. Gavin hastened his pace to keep up with John, who expanded, "That and they don't like sunlight."

"Well I don't either, so next time – well enough or not, Evelyn is coming with you." Gavin persisted, sniffing. He recoiled, lines brutally speared into his face. Running a hand over an aging gravestone as they passed, Gavin grumbled, "I hate these places – they reek of death."

"The odour is better than back at the bank and besides, I know it isn't the sun that's bothering you or you would've taken the sunglasses I offered." John surveyed, "What is it really?"

Sighing, Gavin gruffly yielded, "They're going to think we're together."

"We are together." John said shortly.

"No!" Gavin grimaced, "Together as in lovers."

"Why is that a problem? Would it not make the transition easier? It's not like I'd be your first either, if I'm remembering New York correctly." John jeered, eyes catching sight of the seller. The man stood tall, frown lines evidently etched into his skin.

"Ha, you know I like to play with my food before I eat it." Gavin smirked.

"Aye, though I really wish you wouldn't." John murmured lowly, slowing his pace as he heard the scuffle of machinery. He continued, staring at the man ahead of them, "Evelyn has started picking up on your bad habits. People aren't playthings, they're food."

"Come on John, you can't tell me that in the past ninety-six years you've been a vampire you've never played with your food – not once." Gavin keenly probed.

"Not once."

"Well aren't you boring." Gavin gloomily griped.

"Just be sure to check the measurements of the bedrooms." John strongly ordered, "I'll deal with the seller."

"Fine, but be quick about it. My skin is starting to peel." Gavin picked at his face. He tore away the burned flesh, the under-layer sticking. "Ugh," he grunted indignantly, "I wish our skin could reconstruct itself more quickly."

"I offered you the sunglasses."

"Like that would help against sunlight." Gavin groaned.

"Shut up," John commanded. As they reached the man, he withdrew his hand from his pocket. John shook the man's hand, hastily returning his pinking hand into the dark depths of his pocket. He greeted cheerfully, "Mr Pierce."

"Lahey, actually," The man corrected, "Mr Pierce is busy, so I'll be showing you round. I'm the keeper of this graveyard. You're the new tenants?"

"Us," John said, looping an arm over Gavin's tense shoulders, "Alongside our sister and two children."

Mr Lahey hummed. Brows curling with confusion, he showed them inside.

* * *

The crowd cheered. Pitch bathing in the sunset, Scott fiercely fought the opposing team. Jackson passed him the ball. Sifting through the stands, Allison attempted to reach Lydia. Her excited grin had lowered. Her brows were furrowed. Allison grabbed at Lydia's jacket sleeve. Hastily, she pulled the girl to her. "Lydia!" Allison shouted.

Lydia pushed Allison away irritably, cheering for Jackson as Scott passed the ball back to him. He moved forward, edging toward the goal.

"Lydia!" Allison hysterically screamed.

Failing to be heard over the crowd, Allison grabbed Lydia's shoulders. She turned her friend to herself, calling again to her face, "Lydia!"

Pushing Allison away reverently, Lydia shouted, "What?"

"Stiles," Allison said, pointing to the bench. "Where is Stiles?"

Lydia's breath abandoned her lungs. She whispered, unheard as another roar erupted from the crowd jumping around her, "He never misses a game."

Alison nodded furiously, "I know – my dad said today to be careful, because some peo-"

"Some of the missing students went missing at games." Lydia breathlessly confirmed, "Oh, what have you gotten yourself into you idiot?"

Concerned, Alison spluttered with a hoarse cry, "What do we do?"

Gawking expression hardening, Lydia firmly ordered, "Find his dad, call the police – I'll see if I can find him in the school. He might be in the locker room."

* * *

"Come on, you have to recognise her - you're Mr Creep." Stiles insisted, chewing on his nails. He stared at Derek who inspected the sketch.

"Why is this so important?" Derek asked, throwing the paper back to Stiles. Furiously stumbling, Stile grabbed the flopping paper as it fluttering in the dusty air of the ruined manor.

"Don't you know anything?" He insulted, "People are missing and she's likely to be the person responsible. She's a wolf, isn't she?"

Derek scoffed, "There are no other wolves in Beacon Hills apart from me, Scott and the alpha." He turned away from the young lad, shoes thudding on the staircase as he retired. Derek called down to Stiles, "She's no alpha – I can confirm that."

Heavily sighing, Stiles held his hands to his head. He sucked in deep breaths. He muttered to himself, "If she's not a wolf then she's got to be human, but that doesn't make sense."

"How so?" Derek inquired, eyes shifting to observe the struggling boy.

Stiles divulged, "She's kidnapped students from dense crowds without notice. Not one person has realised. Yeah, sure, at a house party it would be possible, but not at the school – not when she's a complete stranger. Someone would've stepped in, a friend or something."

Derek contemplated aloud, "You think she could have supernatural characteristics or be using properties to successfully take these people."

"That and no bodies have yet been found." Stiles hissed, "She's keeping them somewhere."

"She must be," Derek gruffly confirmed, fists clenching, "Or I or Scott would've smelt the decay round Beacon… unless."

"Unless?" Stiles eagerly ventured.

"Unless the bodies have been buried in, or nearby, the graveyard," Derek admitted, "We wouldn't notice that."

"You wouldn't notice if the victims are still alive either though," Stiles asserted, "There's still that chance, even if it's slim to none."

Derek tilted his head to the side slightly, "I suppose." He stared down from the second floor, sighing, "You want my help."

Exaggeratingly, Stiles thrust out his arms. "Yes!" He bellowed.

Derek scowled, as the shout shook the glass in the thinned window frames.

"I've got an alpha to deal with," Derek starkly snarled, "If you're so bothered by this, sort it yourself."

"Great," Stiles droned with a sarcastic smile, "Just great."


	3. Chapter 3

**Lamb**

A white puff stemmed from between her gasping lips. The crisp air stung Allison's throat. She scanned the stands, mobile phone held to her ear. After two rings a drone toned. The crowd continued. They chanted and clapped, following the cheerleaders. Allison could not hear the person on the other end. Her cherry gloss sparked beneath the stand lighting. Allison shouted, "Stiles!" Her voice cracked. Water crept from the corners of her eyes. "Oh, god Stiles," she huskily whispered. The yellow beams gleamed. She reached up to shade her eyes, grimacing. Allison called through the phone, "Please, you have to help me," she swiftly turned away to check the other side of the stands, "I think one of my friends has been kidnapp-"

Allison squealed.

She smacked into her father's chest. He smiled down at her, holding up a fresh cup of coke. As a tear cascaded down Allison's blushed cheek, his smile shrank. He knelt, placing the cup down onto the seat. "Sweetheart," he prompted, raising his arms to encircle her. Allison moped, harshly pulling away from his grasp. "Allison," he pressed further, frowning at her.

Allison turned away to stare at the field. As she watched the players tumble, she attempted to hear the speaker from her phone. Her father grasped her shoulder. She cried, "We're at the Lacrosse game – at the school. Please, you have to send help."

"Allison what are you doing?" Her father demanded, "What has happened?"

He snatched the phone from her. His thumb caught the touchpad and ended the call.

"Dad!" Allison screamed, "Stop – you don't understand!"

"Then help me to." He calmly said, "Allison what's happened?"

She hiccupped. Sucking in hasty, unfulfilling breaths, she wheezed, "Stiles is missing."

Head tilting slightly, his eyes squinted at her. He scowled, looking to the pitch. "You called the police."

Allison nodded quickly, repeatedly. He stared out at the game, glancing a little to the crowd as some of the students rowdily roared. "Right," he lowly said, "I'll take care of this."

Running, skipping the steps of the stands two at a time, Chris dashed toward Coach Finstock. He called out, "Excuse me!" Finstock shouted at his players, hastening them to push harder into the game. "Coach!" Chris hollered, hoping to be heard above the crooning crowd. He latched onto Finstock's arm. "Sir," he gasped, catching his breath, "You need to stop this game."

"Ha, you're mad." Coach Finstock exclaimed, folding his arms as he turned to glare at Chris.

Chris Argent ferociously shook his head, saying, "No, one of the students has gone missing." He gestured to the Lacrosse players lashing out at each other on the field, as Finstock scoffed, "The game should be put to an end – paused or whatever it is you do."

"You want me to forfeit the game – when we're winning?" Coach Finstock roared disbelievingly.

"Yes." Chris said, eyeing the man.

Finstock laughed, running his hand through his short spiked hair. He glanced at his players, watching as Jackson passed the ball to Danny. He looked at Mr Argent, shamelessly deciding, "No, not happening."

"I'm sorry," A voice interrupted, as Chris began to reach out to viciously grab Finstock. A fairly young man, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, presented, "Hi I'm Jack, the coach of the away team. Did you say that a student has gone missing?"

"Yes, my daughter has already called the police." Chris confided, taking in a deep breath. He trotted back, as Jack stepped between him and Coach Finstock. Finstock scowled, as Jack smiled softly at Mr Argent whom stood taller with wider shoulders.

"Oh, hell no," Finstock grumbled, turning away from the pair. He announced, "We are not stopping, because some kid got lost on their way to the bathroom!"

"Hey, now coach," Jack interjected with a troubled tone, "This is a child – of your school no less. I agree with this gentleman here," Chris gave a thankful nod, patting Jack's shoulder. The pair faced Finstock who refused to look at them. Jack calmly continued, "I'll pull my players in. We could put them to use and search the grounds to see if we can find the student." He asked Chris, "Do you know the kid's name? A description of what they look like would be helpful – a picture maybe."

"You're only saying that, because you're losing!" Coach Finstock childishly insisted, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

"I'm saying it, because I care." Jack pursued, briskly pulling away as Finstock made to push him back. Jack ignored the opposing coach and asked Mr Argent steadfastly, "Who is this kid?"

"Stiles Stilinski." Chris confirmed.

"Never heard of him." Finstock grunted indignantly, "Are you sure he's one of ours?"

"Isn't he on your team?" Chris heatedly queried, "He's usually kitted up and sat on the bench."

"Oh that kid! Ah, no, he didn't show up today – was in class, but never came to practice." Coach Finstock nonchalantly hummed.

"He must have gone missing on the way to the locker room then." Chris deduced.

"Scott!" Coach Finstock bellowed, "Where is Scott – he should know." He barked proudly, having recalled correctly, "Those two are practically a package deal."

"Scott!" Chris joined, surveying the players.

The groups stopped tumbling, the crowd quietening. A few boys shoved one another, growling at their adversaries as they came closer to the elderly trio.

"Ye-yeah coach?" Scott gasped, attempting to even his breathing.

"Scott, have you seen Stiles – since school?" Chris asserted, scrutinising the young lad.

"Err," Scott stumbled, nose scrunching and eyes squinting. He glanced at his fellow players, sparing his coach a disgruntled look. He muttered, "No, he just disappeared after the bell went. I just came here."

Coach Finstock uncomfortably snorted, "He's probably gone home, feeling sick or something. Ask his dad."

"I will when he arrives with his fellow officers." Mr Argent gruffly certified.

"Are the police really necessary?" Finstock tested dejectedly.

"Yes coach, they are." Chris shortly replied.

Jack wrapped his arm round Finstock, as he attempted to shove Chris' shoulder. He led the coach back a bit, surrounding him with his students whom watched on silently. Jack lowly snarled at Finstock, "Two kids have gone missing during your games thus far and now possibly Stiles, the son of a cop no less, and you don't think the police should be called?" Shaking his head, Jack gestured for Danny and Isaac to hold Finstock steady.

"I'm just saying," Finstock loudly protested, "The Lacrosse players shouldn't pay the price of a kid's stupidity." He continued despite the glowers his players shared amongst themselves, as the bewildered crowd began to disperse, "I mean come on, what were all those sessions on stranger danger for if they're not going to use the advice?"

"Regardless, they're kids." Jack murmured irately.

* * *

"You okay?" His partner hesitantly asked, glancing cautiously from his seat.

"My son is missing." John stated, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. He confessed, "He's mischievous Mark, but he'd never do something like this."

Shifting, Mark turned to gaze out of the passenger window. As he watched the shop fronts whizz by, he admitted, "I don't think so either." Brows furrowing, he glanced at John. He unwaveringly certified, "We'll find him though, don't doubt that."

"I just hope we find him alive." John stammered. He gulped, eyes watering.

Mark anxiously licked his lips, staring at his partner. He quietly ventured, "When we do?"

"I'm going to kill him." John confirmed with a resolute nod.

Mark turned to stare at the police car they were following to the school. He awkwardly ran a hand through his blond curls.

"Right." He sighed.

* * *

Lydia sucked in a deep breath. A thick layer of dust was swept from atop the lockers, as the door slammed shut behind her. She coughed slightly, choking. Lydia swiped her pedicured hand before her face, attempted to swipe away the particles. They shimmered under the fluorescent lighting. Her heels clapped, as she tiptoed further. Lydia's wide eyes scanned the locked classroom doors, peering at the cracks and crevasses of the lockers so as to avoid being jumped by a potential kidnapper. She bit her lips, lipstick smearing. "Stiles," Lydia hissed, tilting round the door frame of the locker-room. "Stiles get out here!"

The silence enveloped her. Lydia quivered. A cold breeze tickled her skin as the legs of a dancing spider might. Lungs faltering, she stepped back from the entrance of the locker-room. Lydia stared in. "Stiles?" she timorously probed.

A sudden laugh erupted.

Lydia jumped. Her neck swung to look left with a sharp _crack. _Pressing her hand to the aching twist, Lydia sneered.

Not too far stood a young woman.

The lass smugly swung her arms this way and that, watching as Lydia stumbled in her flashy red heels. Lydia's skirt shifted, as she trotted to regain her balance. The young woman, long hair matted with water, stood leaning particularly on her right foot. The left pant leg of her shabby outfit was dirty. Lydia almost ran to aid her, but she noticed. She noticed the expression on the girl's face. Lydia halted swiftly, the noses of her heels scuffing the floor.

Thick dark eyebrows raised, nose scrounged, eyes narrowed and lips meandering downwards, Evelyn scrutinised Lydia from across the corridor.

Lydia breathed out.

Evelyn hunched over slightly, as a pain reverberated throughout her body. Realising, Lydia boldly confronted, "You!" Evelyn lunged away, as Lydia reached out to grip her jacket sleeve.

"Get back here you bitch!" Lydia screeched. Though her heels fought to uphold themselves, Lydia dashed after Evelyn who hobbled up the hallway toward the school entrance.

Watching the young woman struggle, Lydia thundered after her. She firmly asserted with clenched fists, "You have something that doesn't belong to you."

* * *

Scott stalked between the high-rises. The cold steel bit into his sweating fingertips, as his placed his hands against the surface. The locker creaked, protesting against his weight. The dial echoed through the space. He impatiently cursed, frustrated, "Answer your goddamn phone already."

"Scott, what are doing here?" Her voice interrupted. Allison stepped into the locker-room, eyes searching, "Have you and Lydia found Stiles? Is he in here?" She briskly paced, checking the showers. Allison grimaced, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. She stilled with a worried expression, wondering aloud, "Where is Lydia?"

Scott frowned, ending the unanswered call. He rapidly questioned, "What are talking about? Lydia's not in here. Neither is Stiles."

Allison's eyes flared, makeup racing the tears that tumbled over her cheeks. "Lydia was coming here to see if he was in here." She hastily established, dashing between the locker stalls. Allison yelled, "Lydia!" Scott pursued her, watching as she rushed, "Lydia!"

* * *

"She's not here." He told her gently. Allison sank to the tiled flooring, desperately tearing at Scott's shirt as he tried to get her up on her feet.

Allison wept, "Lydia's gone!"

* * *

"You shouldn't have done this." Mark lightly warned. His eyes watched as Lacrosse players meandered through the halls of the high-school, whilst his hands fingered through his jacket pockets for a notepad. John cleared his throat, turning away from the deluge of searching students. He rifled through his coat swiftly and withdrew his own notepad, handing it to Mark who sheepishly smiled at him. "Thanks," Mark murmured, "Time to get recording I guess."

"Make sure to get every name," John muttered lowly, eyes glancing hastily between Mark, Mr Argent and Coach Finstock. The opposing coach, Jack, had already been led away with his team. They were sent home in their bus by a ranting and raving Finstock. Stepping towards the two civilians, John fiercely glowered at the coach, "This area needs to be cleared of students in the next ten minutes," He stood closer, nose tapping that of Finstock's, "If the site isn't vacant," John gruffly growled, "You're in trouble."

Gulping, Finstock struggled away from John who sneered at him. He stammered, "I was doing what I thought was right – what was necessary." Gesturing wildly, his gaze drifted from the irritated officer to the school buildings. He defensively burst, "These kids are fitter and stronger than any of your officers swamping this place. Not only can they make their way through the school quicker, but they were actually here to help – where were the cops?" Coach Finstock laughed loudly, sardonically pulling teasing facial expressions. "All officers of Beacon were elsewhere, very slowly trudging their way here. Very slowly, like snail pace slow!"

Chris gripped Finstock's shoulder, pulling him back firmly enough to gain an _'oaf'_ out of the man. "I don't think now is really the time for this kind of conversation," he suavely said, voice velvety. Looking at John, Chris smiled, "We'll call the kids back, send the civilians home and then the real search can begin."

John's leer diminished. He licked his lips, parting them to speak, "That includes you Mr Argent. I know you mean well and are likely more than capable, but you are not an officer." Anxiously, John shuffled his feet. His boots squelched into the moist mud of the grassy lawn outside the school. He spoke loudly, his tone of voice official, "If anything, judging from past experiences, any and all civilians at this point are to be considered as potential snatchers."

Coach Finstock muttered humorously, "I really don't think 'snatchers' is the word."

Chris nudged him in the ribs, causing Finstock to cry out in pain. The others ignored his outburst, as another voice intervened.

Hysterically, Allison had run up to the men without notice and exclaimed with disbelief, "You're sending us all home? We can't leave, not yet, we've not found them yet!"

"Allison," Chris gently began.

John's voice cut through Chris', as he bellowed, "Them?" He turned to her, grabbing her shoulders, "I thought it was just one."

Mark moved forward to pull John back, watching Allison's visage cringe.

"I thought it was just Stiles – my son. Who else has been taken?" John's eyes widened, realising, "Scott!"

"No!" Allison shouted, "Scott's fine – he's fine. I saw him, he's looking with the others," she tilted her head round to look at the school entrance, murmuring, "He's inside."

John relinquished her, breathing more easily. "Thank God," he whispered, "At least one is safe, but who is the other?"

Mark meandered Allison toward her father, gripping securely to John's shoulder.

Allison admitted, as her father pulled her to him, "Lydia." She gazed up into her father's worried eyes, tears brimming again, "Whoever took Stiles has taken Lydia." Allison harshly brushed her fingers into her sockets, clearing them of water. She confessed, lips quivering, "I told Lydia and she had me call the police, whilst she went after Stiles – now she's gone!"

"This isn't your fault Allison." John firmly ensured, as her voice cracked. He gazed at the school, watching as his fellow officers pushed and pulled students out of the building. He said, "This is the fault of the kidnapper alone and they'll pay for what they've done." Fists clenching, John thundered, "I give you my word."

Coach rumbled, jogging off toward his Lacrosse players. Jackson argued ferociously with three officers, as Danny and Matt attempted to calm him. Finstock hollered, "Step away from my players! Don't you dare harm a hair on their heads – I need them for the game next Saturday!"

Chris shook his head, a light laugh escaping his throat. Allison squeezed his arm, gazing at Stiles' father. She pulled away from her dad, plodding toward the dishevelled officer. "I know you will." She certified, brows furrowed and long nails digging into her thighs. Allison grunted, "They'll answer to the law for what they've done to all these people. Justice always prevails."

Standing by his partner, Mark nodded. They were mystified by her and both bewilderedly expressed, "Justice always prevails."

Mr Argent tugged Allison, removing his car keys from his coat pocket. He commented, "You're a hell of a person Allison… always surprising people."

She shrugged, biting her lower lip anxiously. "I just hope we find them." she admitted wistfully, looking from the school to her father.

He smiled sweetly, pulling her away. Chris re-enforced, "We've already established that the police with do everything they can to find the two, don't worry."

"Right," Allison grudgingly agreed, "I'd just prefer to be here really."

She eventually stopped walking altogether, staring at her father as he continued to edge toward the car park.

Chris sighed heavily, swivelling round on the tips of his brown-booted toes to look at her.

Eyes big, glossy lips pouting and the promise of being well behaved were splashed cross her ale visage. Biting his lips, Chris shook himself. He could tell by looking at her hunched shoulders, sickly pallor and scratched voice that his daughter was tired. He also knew she was too stressed to sleep well. Chris stored away his car keys an took her hand, dragging her back to the school entrance. He firmly told her, "We stay outside where the police can see us and we're only here until eleven, because your mother expects us back from the game by then."

Allison held back a squeal, asking instead, "Mom doesn't know yet?"

"No," Chris avoided her shining gaze, "I'll explain it all when we get back and see her properly… this isn't really something you can explain over a phone."

Allison nodded, eyes piercing the walls of the school.

They, alongside the Lacrosse players and a few stragglers from the audience of the game waited.

* * *

As she dashed away from the building, fire door slamming behind her, Lydia shouted across the grassland. The woman ahead, brown locks flailing ignored the livid cry. Headlights flashed, as Lydia chased the girl. Lydia swung her legs forward, heels almost snapping. She wailed in pain, as her right ankle toppled. Lydia cursed, stumbling into the thick trunk of an aged tree. The bark bit into the under-skin of her nails and she grimaced. Taking in a deep breath, Lydia stepped gingerly. Despite the pain that swam up her leg, she continued on.

In the distance behind her she could hear a car door thumping. Ignoring that, Lydia meandered between the trees of the forest. Her heels sank into the moist earth, mud repainting the flashy red colour. Boughs tore at Lydia's skirt, arms scratching against the skin of trees she fell against as she ran. "I know you're still here!" She screeched, standing stationary. Lydia swung round in a circle, looking in all directions. Two pairs of footsteps echo through the treeline and Lydia frowns. Quietly, she asks, "Where are you?"

A humid breeze carries the sound through and Evelyn laughs. Lydia's body stiffens, as a cold creeping over her. It drips like water, tumbling down the hollow of her throat, the skin of her arms and her lower shins. Lydia blinks, taking in a deep breath that burns her lungs. Evelyn's voice assaults the space around her, smug as a cat with stolen cream, "That boy-toy of yours - Jackson was it?" A silent moment overpowered the pair, as Evelyn stumbled through foliage. Lydia's brows furrowed, as she concentrated on pinpointing Evelyn's location. She took a step forward, stopping when Evelyn's voice continued, "He must be quite a bit of fun… I'd love to play with him."

Fists clenching, Lydia screamed.

Her nails dug into her palms, paint tainted with her blood.

Evelyn coated her ears with her hands. The sound invaded her brain. The gloop inside her head shook and her eyesight quivered, as Lydia's voice heightened further. Evelyn fell. Bones snapping and sliding against one another as her ligaments bent incorrectly, she yowled. Lydia's voice cracked. Tone hoarse, she sneered into the abyss of dull greenery, "I got you now."

"I want Stiles back." Lydia cemented, prowling towards Evelyn. Slumped at the bottom of a tree, Evelyn attempted to back away. Roots entangled her. Lydia pulled Evelyn to her feet. Evelyn wailed, ankles omitting cracking sounds as they slid back into place. "I know you took him!" Lydia shouted. Evelyn cringed, ears ringing.

"Please," She begged, "Stop with the screaming. It's not necessary."

"I'll decide what is and isn't necessary!" Lydia insisted, pulling and pushing Evelyn back against the tree. Evelyn moaned, as the bark scraped the nodules of her aching spine.

"What even is a Stiles?" Evelyn grunted under her breath, watching through a hazy gaze as Lydia bit her red lips viciously. Frustrated, Lydia kicked Evelyn's left shin. Both girls cried out.

"You've kidnapped him, haven't you?" Lydia demanded, voice struggling, "He knows what you look like and that you're the one that's been taking people and _you took him_!" Tears stumbled over Lydia's hot cheeks. The liquid sparkled under the dim starlight that flowed through from above the upper canopy. Evelyn shook her head, attempting to clear her vision. Her ears refused to focus on the words properly and her brain stuttered, trying to smear the spoken sentence back into its original order. Still, she did not understand what Lydia said.

Nose scrunching and eyes squinted, Evelyn spat at Lydia, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lydia leered, gruffly grumbling, "I was the one that told him, because I saw you – remember. I told him! Why did you take him and not me?"

Evelyn laughed. She disregarded Lydia's spluttering, smirking, "Who's to say I've not taken you?"

The horror in Lydia's eyes took away her beauty. The oxygen travelling down her throat did not satisfy her lungs. She tried to scream again, but only a raw gasp prevailed. Lydia coughed severely, throat dry. Evelyn chuckled, watching the girl stumble away from her.

Grip abandoned, Evelyn stepped away from the tree. Her back burned, legs fumbling to remain upright. Lydia dashed away, but her right heel gave way as it combatted the uneven flooring. Twigs stabbed at her leg, as she fell.

Lydia's hands reached out, grasping at the ground ahead of her. She stared into the darkness, wishing herself away as Evelyn crept toward her.

Rolling over, Lydia found herself facing an insane character.

Hair matted with leaves, dirt smeared into her bloody wounds, Evelyn smirked. She excitedly trotted to Lydia's frightened frame that lay sprawled on the woodland ground. Her hands searched blindly for a strong and thick stick, but found underbrush instead and Lydia violently trembled. Evelyn's teeth blared and her eyes darkened to a deep maroon.

"You followed me out here," Evelyn smugly taunted, "All alon-"

"She's not alone!" A voice roared.

Evelyn was thrown aside, kicked in the shin. The bones gave way. Evelyn hissed, canines enlarging, as the pain reverberated through her body. She gripped tightly to her leg, bones jutting out.

Stiles rushed Lydia to her feet.

They ran.

Evelyn reached back and threw a rock at them, as they went. The forest swallowed their figures, but Evelyn bitterly refused to be beaten by children. She rose from the ground, leaning especially on her unbroken leg and determinedly hobbled after the pair.

She could hear them. Lydia spluttered out exclamations of 'You're okay!' and '"What the hell just happened?' _Stiles_ did not reply, silently leading the red-haired girl through the woods. Scented sweat assaulted Evelyn's nose, as she struggled forth. He was afraid, but not as much as he should have been. She gnashed her teeth, she'd make him scream. Evelyn was made to be feared, as Lydia feared her in that moment that her true self came out.

Blood dripped from between her rosy lips, deepening the colour and Evelyn huffed. Her leg bled, the jagged exposed bone scraping against foliage as she crossed through packs of nettles, garlic and rotting leaf-beds. Ferns stroked her skin, tugging at her torn clothing. She felt the force from within her shoes. Weathered boulders prodded the bottoms of her feet, pushing up her soles.

As she heard Lydia's heels patter onto cement, Evelyn whimpered. She stopped. Dropping to the ground Evelyn crawled to a tree, dragging her leg behind her. Her foot lolled, the exposed bone of her shin pointing upward. Blood glistened, muscle rippling. Evelyn choked, eyes moistening. She cried out, hearing doors open and an engine rumble.

Evelyn peaked between the foliage, attempting to see past the treeline.

She could not see them and after a few more moments, gasping desperately, she could not hear them either. Her breaths grew louder. She wheezed. Evelyn tried to rise again, but the broken bone in her leg had separated further during the chase. Whining, Evelyn pushed her hands into the ground and willed someone to find her. Aside from the racing of her heart, the shuffling of nocturnal critters and the rustle of leaves in the wind Evelyn could not hear anyone. She blinked back tears, trying to slow her breathing.

Evelyn glanced at her leg, grimacing. A tear fell from between her long lashes, as she reached out with filthy hands. Evelyn grasped the underside of her leg with one hand. She used the other to force the bone down. Shrieking, Evelyn forced the sharp splintered bone back. Blood spurted from between the bone and muscle. Her eyes darkened, as the bone cut through her skin. Evelyn felt the piercing blade wedge itself into her flesh. The new wound bled little, skin stretched taught.

Evelyn stared at the blood soaking into the soil beneath her backside. The dense fluid was already drying along her arms, browning.

Clothes ruined and feeling tremendously ill and starved, Evelyn fled. She staggered deeper into the forest, away from the roadside-edge, and tussled with what creatures she could catch.

* * *

A bulky officer, footsteps thudding, marched towards John and Mark. Mark noted the amount of teens sat along the front wall of the school.

"They've all called their parents," John told the man.

He nodded. "Good, the last thing we need is for these kids to be wandering home without supervision."

"Aye," John murmured, "Wouldn't want any more of them going missing."

"I'm not leaving without Lydia!" Jackson hollered, rising from the wall. Mark pushed the boy back, hand firm against Jackson's chest. As Jackson stepped towards the tall officer Danny grabbed and tugged at Jackson's back, sitting him back beside himself on the wall. Danny lowly spoke in Jackson's ear, willing his friend to compose himself. Though quiet, Jackson glared at the Mark.

"Not many left now," John continued, staring at the boys sat along the wall.

Scott stood a few feet away from Jackson and Danny, watching the pair cautiously. Another lad, Isaac, skittishly sat on Danny's other side. He anxiously ran his hands through his honey coloured curls, over his cheeks, eyes, thin mouth and down his sweating neck. The three officers shared glances, Mark teetering on his feet. The officer beside John nodded at Mark, throwing a set of keys at him.

Mark caught them, listening intently as the officer commanded, "I bought some water bottles earlier for my wife's hike on Sunday." He pointed at the boys, gaze fixated on Isaac, "They can have one each."

As Mark wandered to the car park, Scott's head raised. His eyes glanced away from the ground and feet stopped tapping. Staring, Scott scouted the treeline. His eyes watched the corner of the road, as it wound into the wood.

The others heard it as well. Expecting another parent, John walked toward the boys to pull each of them up.

Familiar bulbous headlights flashed. The Jeep squawked, as it sharply turned the corner. Two pairs of wide eyes peered out of the windscreen. Lydia screamed, as Stiles slashed at the brake. The Jeep halted.

John scowled at his son, stalking toward the boy as he stumbled from the vehicle.

"Err," Stiles stuttered, rubbing nervously at his neck, "Hi Dad, I thought you were too busy to make the game tonight?"

* * *

Jaw snapping out of place, she dug her teeth into the tuft fur of a baby rabbit. Evelyn briskly tiptoed through the forest. Her mangled leg had begun to fix itself. The process was painful. She slurped the irony liquid from the carcass in her arms, listening to the crackle of her leg. The bone stabbed itself through the skin, tearing at the muscle in the way to reattach itself. The cells remembered. Evelyn bit harder into the rabbit, her hands crushing its ribcage as she refrained from squealing in pain. This was the eighth rabbit. The fourth and sixth were much more plump and satisfying than the others. She yelped. Bone fixed, her body began to restore the muscles, ligaments, and flesh. The tendon at the back of her shin leading down into the back of the heel complained greatly. Evelyn huffed unhappily. The irony scent from the blood made her mouth water, but the cold creeping into the rabbit's veins put Evelyn off the meal. Its eyes bulged, as she squished the bones. She tossed the rabbit to the ground, its neck flopping freely.

Evelyn stopped.

Something scurried.

Looking round, she studied the foliage. Evelyn suspected a fox. It had most likely smelt the rabbit, felt the thump of its body on the ground as she threw it down. Perhaps it had followed her since the third rabbit.

She strode warily.

There it was again, but heavier. Evelyn's eyes squinted, dark lashes drooping. She listening intently, certifying.

Two feet sauntered.

"Human," Evelyn whispered, her eyes closing and visage smoothing with a new found peace. The lines on her face diminished, as her concentration waned. "What a Godsend." Evelyn thought aloud, eyes opening swiftly. She glanced down at her leg, which still oozed blood as the skin slowly coated the meat with fresh flesh. "Definitely still need more," she acknowledged, ignoring the reminder that blazed in the back of her aching head. They told her not to. They were all told not to. Shaking herself aggressively, shoulders shuddering, Evelyn wandered in the direction of the footsteps.

* * *

"Well there go the last of them," Mark said with a tired smile.

Few officers remained. John had stalked through the hallways, parading Stiles by his jacket. He ordered all police officers home and promised a published report by dawn. Stiles had cringed, pulling back from the jeers of the officers they passed in the corridors. No one was impressed with the young lad. John was furious.

"Not all of them," John corrected, eyes straying from Isaac and his angry father as they drove away from the school. He turned to the wall, crossing his arms. Mark turned as well, eyes catching sight of Lydia.

Danny's father had arrived as Stiles was chastened around the school, taking both Danny and Jackson home. After Stiles' shaming was over, John ordered him to take Scott home and to be ready for a proper lecture at their house. Lydia was left. Mark could not contact her parents prior to finding her. She attempted to call, but they would not answer to her mobile.

"We'll take her home and you can drop me off on the corner," Mark planned. John opened his mouth to contend, but Mark brushed off the unspoken words, "My car will be fine at the station for one night, you take the cruiser home – you've still got Stiles to deal with. I'll be fine and she'll be home safe."

"If her parents are home," John indignantly mumbled.

Lydia sat silently, hands clasped together in her lap. She stared at the forest, eyes searching for deep maroon eyes. Her ears listened for a high pitched chortle. None arose. Stiles told her to keep quiet. Lydia frowned, incoherently muttering to herself, "He is so strange. Should I be telling the cops?"

* * *

Evelyn had not expected fur. Illuminated eyes haunted her. Her leg was tender. The limb insisted she slow, stop, but she could not. Tears leaked from Evelyn's eyes as she ran. A sharp pain tore up her leg. Her chest hurt. A roar forced her forward. The creature slashed through foliage.

Evelyn was tackled.

She screamed, hacking behind her with elongated claws. Her knifed nails sliced through his skin easily. He snarled. Forcing her round, sitting on her stomach, he held her down. Evelyn's legs kicked out. "Get away from me!" she shouted, hands attempting to shuffle from beneath his harsh grip on her wrists. "Monster!" Evelyn cried out, voice cracking. The high tone made him flinch. He recoiled from her, weight slightly lifting away.

Evelyn took advantage. She tucked her uninjured leg up, kicking upward.

Derek was thrown back.

Evelyn stumbled upright. She hesitated, as another boom pervaded the silence of the wood.

Gasping, she stared into the brush.

Derek grunted. He held an arm against the trunk of the tree. The roots attempted to trip him, as he moved away and towards the young woman.

Evelyn looked at him, backing away.

"You," she faltered breathlessly, "You're not the monster." Evelyn frowned. She sniffed, mumbling, "Confusing."

"Of course I'm not," Derek growled, "What kind of kid wanders round the woods this late at night alone - with an injury like that!" He gestured wildly at her leg that bubbled blood. The fluid was clotting. With a more appropriate meal she would be fully healed, but Evelyn was more concerned with living than healing.

The beast broke through the surrounding abyss.

Startled, Evelyn rushed forward and grabbed at Derek's arm. He shook her off violently.

He smelt like that thing, she realised.

Horrified, as his eyes ignited, Evelyn ran.

Derek's teeth lengthened. His senses strengthened as he changed and he caught a whiff of her.

This wondrous woman smelt of rabbits, wood and Rose perfume. Derek stumbled, facing the beast. The Alpha skulked around him, circling him. Derek pondered, as he heard her gasps. He could hear her heart flutter abnormally. Was she more injured than he had first comprehended?

His eyes explored the boughs above them, attempting to find one low enough.

* * *

The flesh of Evelyn's leg began to tear apart, as her pace amplified. The borrowed blood pooling in her veins, forcing her heart to pump and her organs to move was declining. She needed more.

* * *

He shovelled more dirt from the border. Isaac grunted heatedly to himself as he worked, "I told them I had my bike." He huffed, rising from his hunched positioned to stroke a hand down his aching lower back. "It's not my fault it wasn't good enough for the cops – God!" He threw the shovel down and dug his hands through is hair. Isaac pulled at his curls, "Not only does he have to ruff-house, but makes me work through the night too. It was supposed to be my night off."

A loud bang surprised him. Isaac jumped. He turned hastily, lowering himself to a crouch in case he was being attacked. His left cheek brightened under the glow of a porch lamp. The shabby hut of a house, standing lonely in the centre of the graveyard was warm. Life fluttered within, like birds in a cage and Isaac stared. Two children ran after one another with wide grins in a ground floor window. A teen around the same age as himself watched over the pair, arms crossed with a small smile of his own. Isaac tumbled behind one of the many standing stones, as two uniformed delivery men and a much older man than himself carried furniture up the overgrown path. The stones groaned under the weight.

"What?" He wondered aloud, brows furrowing.

"We've only just moved in and already we've gotten ourselves a Peeping Tom." A haughty voice declared. Isaac hurried to stand up properly, turning to face the owner of the tone. A young woman with bushy hair and wild eyes stared at him. Isaac nervously brushed his dirty hands down on his jeans, smearing mud into the fabric. She droned lowly, eyes fixated on his cheek, "Hmm, nasty bruise you got there. Still, your father should be aware of this little habit you've got."

"No, wait – please!" Isaac harried, beseeching, "Please don't tell him. I don't mean to pry. I was just curious." He turned slightly to look back at the house. The eldest owner stood statuesque before the front door, signing delivery documentation. Isaac gawked at the girl, "You live here - with them?"

"The company promises twenty-four hour service, though due to the time it also costs more than it would have if the delivery had been during the day." Evelyn admitted, "My brothers detest being woken so early though." She tiptoed closer to the boy. He was tall for his age. She had to lean her head back to look up into his eyes. Evelyn dragged out lewdly, "I won't tell anyone… for a kiss."

"Err," Isaac spluttered, attempting to move back. He almost fell over a gravestone as he tried to avoid her hands. Evelyn reached up, holding his head in place. She rose onto the tips of her toes, leg protesting, and softly nipped his neck.

She pulled away. Isaac stared unseeing, shocked.

As she stepped around his warm body, Isaac felt something. A liquid, thicker than the sweat that careened down his body, slid down his neck. He gulped, reaching up to swipe the fluid away with his hand. Isaac's light eyes widened with bewilderment. Blood dribbled over his palm, slipping between his coarse fingers.

"Goodnight." Evelyn whispered, facing forward. Isaac turned to watch her, as she strolled to the house.

John remained at the front door. The movers had disappeared outside the gates of the graveyard. He held the door open. Evelyn ambled under his arm and into the house. John towered over her. He glanced at Isaac who stumbled away. Evelyn scoffed, wiping vibrant blood from her lips. John glowered disapprovingly at her. As they entered into the warm home, John slammed the door shut behind them.

* * *

"She's only young," Peter defended, "Hurt and desperate for food."

"The child is stupid!" Ivor hissed, throwing a newly purchased photo frame at Evelyn. John pulled her away, as the glass shattered against the wall.

"Can you really blame her?" Gavin revelled, smirking at the shaking girl. He glared at Ivor, "We're starving for something real - Evelyn especially! Hungry, weak and ill… now she's even gone and gotten herself hurt."

Peter took hold of Ivor's arms. She struggled to release herself, scratching at his arms. The material of his jacket tore, blood ebbing from beneath. The others sucked in slow, deep breaths. Gavin quivered, hurrying from the room as his fangs lengthened.

"What are we to do with you?" Peter murmured. He held his sister firmly, hugging her.

Ivor sniffled, "Evelyn, you said you'd behave."

"I know and I did – I swear I did, but two kids knowing isn't important right now." She certified boldly.

Ivor scowled, frown lines showing her age, "What is it?" Her fangs, four along the top of her jaw and two beneath, scraped the flesh from her lips.

"There was something out there," Evelyn expressed, weak heart fluttering. She sniffed, recalling the scent, "A monster," Peter's gaze entangled Evelyn and they both lost themselves in the depths of their shared un-dead shade. She remembered the blue brewing in that man's eyes, saying, "Not just one."

Peter gulped. Ivor's face relaxed.

A tense silence simmered.

The four vampires jumped, surprised. Gavin had thrown a body between them. One of the young boys they had taken in their first week. His eyes were glassy and sockets sunken, skin tinged blue and purple. The lad's toned stomach was slowly inflating. He was dead.

John strode to the front door and grasped one of two shovels that leaned against the white wall. Gavin scoffed, but Ivor intervened before he could refuse, "You're to bury them here in the yard." She turned her gaze from the sulking Gavin to the impassive visage of John. "Make sure they're buried under freshly dug mounds. We don't need that _Peeping Tom_ of Evelyn's to get suspicious."

"That's not sustainable." John stated, watching as Evelyn slinked under the dining table to avoid Ivor's glower. "We're bound to consume more than the dead this place provides."

"True," Gavin boisterously laughed, "It's not like people die every day!"

Peter winced, releasing Ivor from his forced hug and moving over to sit at the dining table. Evelyn clutched at the cuffs on the bottom of his trouser legs. He nudged her with his foot slightly, ankle rotating to stroke her arm.

John glanced out the netted curtains, "I'm unsure if that Lahey boy is finished yet anyway." He returned the shovel, "We'll have to wait until he's done with his work."

"That boy – _Stiles_," Ivor suddenly said, "He goes to that school?" she ventured, turning to look at Evelyn who curled up closer to Peter's limbs. Evelyn nodded despite her uncertainty.

Ivor grinned, "Gavin you're young-looking enough... turned at seventeen."

He raised an eyebrow, surprised and tremendously reluctant.

"Infiltrate the school. Find that meddlesome boy. Bring him to me."


End file.
